


The One Where Elio Will Not Call Oliver in a Million Years (Even if He's Dying)

by elioolivercmbyntrash



Series: Elio & Oliver one shots [6]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: AU modern day, Fluff, Food Poisoning, Homesick, Homesickness, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Vomiting, Whump, alternative universe: modern day, but no details, elio's a horny teenager, handjobs are mentioned, i'm so mean to elio in this, insecure elio, no specific year but they use cell phones in this, possessive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elioolivercmbyntrash/pseuds/elioolivercmbyntrash
Summary: Elio's first semester at Julliard is hard. He gets very homesick. Makes the mistake of calling Oliver. Eats a dodgy burger and feels like he's dying and decides that actually, he should call Oliver for help.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: Elio & Oliver one shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720645
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	The One Where Elio Will Not Call Oliver in a Million Years (Even if He's Dying)

**Author's Note:**

> My muse is on fire right now? Anyway, this one reflects some of my personal experiences of my first semester at university (No, I didn't go to Julliard, I don't have a musical bone in my body) in terms of homesickness.
> 
> I really was very mean to Elio in this one.
> 
> As always, the characters don't belong to me. I just have an unhealthy obsession with them.

Elio had been in New York for a total of 12 hours and he wanted to go home.

His parents had not flown with him, believing it better for Elio that he go alone and get himself settled. Elio had tried to protest against this; he wanted to have some alcohol in his dorm, a couple of bottles of wine, something classy. It wasn’t legal for him to buy alcohol in America, and he didn’t know anyone in New York who would buy it for him.

Well, that wasn’t  _ entirely _ true. 

And besides, the whole alcohol protest had been a lie - kind of. He’d been desperate to gain his independence, until around June, when he was sunbathing in the villa’s grounds watching his mother pick her apricots. Then, he just wanted time to stop. He wasn’t ready to be an adult yet. He remembered the first time he’d tried apricot juice, when he was 5. His mother had lifted him up so that he could pick some apricots, and he’d watched, eyes wide, as she turned them from solid fruit to juice. He’d believed, then, that his mother was truly magical.

Of course, once he’d turned 18, he’d realised that his parents were just human. This wasn’t a sudden discovery; when he was 12, his father had tried to give him “the talk” about the “birds and the bees” and had blushed and stumbled over his words. 

He’d allowed himself to shed a few tears when he’d hugged Annella and Sami for the last time until the winter break. But as soon as he was out of their sight, he burst into tears. He sobbed himself to sleep on the plane, thankful that his parents had booked him business class. A gentleman with white hair wearing a suit (who wears a full suit for a long haul flight?) had glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, but other than that he’d been left alone. 

Getting into Julliard had not been difficult. Music was a part of Elio, just like breathing and eating. His parents had encouraged his music, but they’d never forced him to learn it. He’d been asked to play for their guests since he was 8, and he’d never figured out whether they’d got him to play because they wanted to show him off, or because he provided them with free entertainment, or because they wanted him to develop confidence and self-esteem. Elio had never been worshipped by his parents. He’d been expected to fit into their lifestyle, rather than being at the centre of attention. That was the European way, after all.

Before he’d left, Sami had given him Oliver’s telephone number. They were still in contact, the only intern Sami had stayed in touch with. Elio hadn’t spoken to Oliver since  _ that _ chat they’d had last Hanukkah. “Just in case,” Sami said. “New York’s a big place. It might help knowing that there’s a familiar face nearby.”

Sami had kept Elio up-to-date with Oliver’s latest news, from the big (“Oliver’s called off the wedding!”) to the little (“Oliver said he walked past Julliard the other day and he wanted to know how you are”). Elio had started to think that Papa was in love with Oliver, or something, because why else was he so obsessed with him? Which was a weird thing to think, really, when Elio and Oliver had slept together last summer. In the end, he decided that Papa was desperate for Elio to get together with Oliver. Had he forgotten that Oliver had lied to Elio all that summer, hidden his soon-to-be-fiance from him? No. Elio did not like Oliver. He knew that made him childish, but who could blame him? Elio had entered the number into his phone anyway. Just in case.

*

Elio wished he’d gone to the conservatory in Rome, instead. Or even Paris. He wouldn’t have even thought of picking up the phone and calling Oliver if he’d been in Rome or Paris.

“Hello?” 

“Oliver?”

“Elio? Hi, how are you? Are you in New York yet?” Oliver asked. “God, it’s been so long. How are you?” God, that voice. It was like caramel; smooth, tempting, god-damn dangerous.

“Yeah, I’m in New York.”

“Have you met your roommate?” 

“Oh, no, they’re not here yet. Um, Oliver? No, never mind.” Why had he picked up the phone? He was certain Oliver would report this phone call to Sami.

“What’s troubling you?”

“No, it was silly of me to call you. Um -”

“Elio,” said Oliver. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah I, gosh, it’s silly really, we haven’t spoken for over 6 months and here I-”

“Do you know how good it is to hear your voice?” asked Oliver.

Elio broke.

“I want to go home,” said Elio, with a whimper.

“Oh Elio. You’ll be tired. You need to eat something, and get some sleep. The feelings will pass. I get kids coming to my office sometimes, in tears because they want to go home. You haven’t even been in New York for 24 hours yet.”

“Right,” Elio said. Kids. Because that was what he was to Oliver. A kid. He gave himself a handjob that night while he thought about Oliver’s voice.

*

Elio didn’t speak to Oliver for a few weeks after that. He knew it was childish, but he also thought he should try and settle into life in New York, and at Julliard. His classes had started, and his professors were very impressed with his work so far. Weekends were long, though. He’d tried to find himself a job just to keep himself occupied. He was privileged; he didn’t need the money, and his parents had paid his fees and his rent. But weekends were when he missed Italy most. His roommate, some annoying jock-type called Brad, was always out. Most likely banging girls, because that was the only thing he ever seemed to talk about. Brad was apparently majoring in drama, but Elio was certain he must have rich parents because how else would he get into a school like this? He had a constant gormless expression. Elio was relieved to have the dorm to himself most of the time, but he didn’t have any friends and he didn’t really know how to make them, either. He’d always been happy with his own company, which came with being an only child.

One Saturday night, he was trying to complete an essay that was due on Monday. He was on his 5th (or was it his 6th? 7th?) coffee of the evening. American coffee tasted like dirt, and he was desperate for the taste of proper coffee, especially Mafalda’s. His fingers were shaking, as was his brain. He closed the lid of his laptop and picked up his phone.

“Maman? I’m sorry to call you so late.” 

“Hello, Elio, darling,” said Annella. “How are you?”

“Um, mom, I want to come home,” said Elio, his voice breaking. “I want to transfer to, like, the conservatory in Rome. I can’t do this.”

“Oh my darling. You know, it’s normal to feel this way. You’re away from home for the first time, everything is new and different. It takes time to settle in.”

Elio continued to sob down the phone.

“Oh Elly-Belly.”

“I don’t have any friends here. They’re all...so loud,” he said.

“Why don’t you call Oliver?”

“Really? Maman, he won’t want to hang out with a kid like me.”

“I don’t agree, actually.”

Elio would  _ not  _ call Oliver. Never ever in a million years, even if he was dying. Not after he’d referred to him as a kid. Even if he still was one.

*

Elio knew he should  _ not _ have eaten from that burger place. He woke up at 2am on Friday morning in November, his sheets drenched in sweat, and a gurgling stomach. He dashed straight to the communal bathroom and clutched onto the toilet as he spewed, his throat burning. He’d practically had to move into the cubical, vomiting into a plastic trash can while his bowels spewed lava into the toilet, crying for his mother in between heaves. He didn’t know it was possible for his body to expel so much from both ends at the same time. He vowed, as he sat on the toilet, to never ever eat from any dodgy looking burger joints again. 

By Sunday afternoon, he was struggling to get out of bed. A kind girl who lived in the dorm across the hallway, a drama major named Sophie, had bought him water and Gatorade and crackers, and had given him her number in case he needed anything, please, don’t hesitate to ask. And you’re  _ Italian _ ? I went to Italy in the summer, it’s beautiful. Where are you from in Italy?

Elio had muttered that he was from Milan, but he felt too sick to talk much. Sophie reminded him to call her if he needed anything else. She knew his roommate was Brad. “He’s got about as much compassion and empathy as a doorknob,” she’d said. When she finally left Elio’s dorm, he’d finally given into the nausea he’d be holding in. He’d not wanted to puke in front of some pretty girl.

He then realised that he had not peed in like, well, wait, he couldn’t actually _ remember _ when he’d last peed. He tried to stand up to go to the bathroom, to see if he could still pee or if his body had just changed into a vomiting and shitting machine, but his legs didn’t seem to work. Elio sat back on the bed, his eyes burning because there was literally no water left in his body. He needed to call someone.

He hadn’t spoken to Oliver since his first night in New York. They'd not seen each other for over a year, since that hug at the train station. He didn’t know what else to do, who else to call. He’d imagined Brad coming back from his weekend at home and finding him dead, in a pool of his own vomit and shit. Because he was obviously dying, right? Unless he did the unthinkable, and called Oliver - which was, he concluded, much better than dying. 

"Oliver? Oliver, could you come over? I'm so sick. Please."

“Elio? Can you be more specific? Of course I’ll come over, just let me know your address.”

"I’ve been sick for 3 days and I don't know what to do," Elio said. "I can't keep anything down."

*

When Oliver arrived, he found Elio sitting on his bed vomiting into a plastic trash can. God, this was really  _ not  _ Elio’s finest hour, although Oliver did once kiss him shortly after he’d vomited into a fountain (did Oliver perhaps have some weird vomit kink?), and he reminded himself that this was much better than death.

"When did this start?" asked Oliver, rubbing Elio’s back. Elio looked like he'd lost weight, although Oliver had no idea how that was possible. His eyes and cheeks were sunken. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his neck. His cheeks were bright red and he’d definitely burst some blood vessels in his eyes. He smelled of vomit and sweat. 

"Thursday night I think," said Elio. "I can't keep water down. And, like, this is embarrassing but I can’t remember when I last peed?"

"We need to take you to the hospital," said Oliver. "You need fluids."

“I want to go home,” said Elio, lifting his head slowly.

“I know,” Oliver said. “Let me empty this for you. We’ll take this with us. I’m not having you puke all over a cab.”

“Why did you agree to come?” asked Elio. “We haven’t, like, seen each other for a year or really spoken to each other. I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I came because you’re away from home and sick, and clearly terrified,” said Oliver. “Plus, what kind of human being would I be if I said no? Come on, off to the hospital we go.”

*

Elio looked so small lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to a drip, picking at a spare thread on the hospital blanket with one hand and clutching a grey cardboard vomit bowl in his other. Oliver had gone to call the Perlmans when the doctor had come to stick a massive needle in Elio’s ass, to preserve what was left of Elio’s dignity.

“I’ve called your parents,” said Oliver. “They’ll give you a call tomorrow, once you’ve had a decent night’s sleep. And I’ll come and visit you tomorrow, alright?”

“Thanks. Oh, and Oliver? Thanks so much for taking me to the hospital,” Elio said. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he replied. “Get some rest, buddy, and I’ll see you tomorrow OK?”

“OK.”

“Well, later,” Oliver said, with a grin.

“Asshole,” said Elio.

*

The next morning Elio felt more human. He managed to pee, and nibbled on a bit of dry toast. The doctor said that they wanted to keep him in until tomorrow morning because he’d been very dehydrated.

Oliver visited that afternoon as he’d promised. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” said Elio.

“You looked like a zombie yesterday,” said Oliver with a smile. “So, how do you like Julliard?”

“Are we like, not going to talk about how you called off your wedding and how we’ve not spoken for almost a year?” said Elio. 

Oliver’s smile faded. “I called off the wedding because it didn’t feel right. But I don’t want to talk about that right now Elio. You’ve not answered my question.”

“I love the academic side,” said Elio. “But I just can’t get into the other part of college life. I miss home. I miss my parents.” Now the tears were coming, but what dignity did Elio have left after the past few days?

“It’s alright,” said Oliver. “You know, you won’t be alone in how you feel. Some people get drunk or high or party too much to try and cope with it, and others hide themselves away. Maybe we could, you know, hang out more? Would you like that?”

“You really want to?”

“Elio, why would I ask that if I didn’t mean it? Of course I want to hang out with you. I do think you should join a society or something to feel more part of the school, though.”

“You sound  _ just  _ like Papa,” Elio sighed.

“I’m speaking from experience,” said Oliver. “You know, it’s OK to miss home. It’s OK to miss your parents. It’s OK to feel whatever you’re feeling right now.”

Elio was sobbing, knees drawn up to his chest, hands over his eyes, his whole body shaking. 

“Oh Elio,” Oliver said, wrapping his arms around Elio and rocking him gently. “Just cry it all out. I’m here.” Elio clung to Oliver, drenching his shirt with his tears and with snot. Maybe calling Oliver had not been a bad idea. He still used the same cologne, Elio realised, inhaling the smell deeply. 

*

A couple of weeks later, Elio and Oliver landed in Milan for winter break. Elio had insisted Oliver come with him when he discovered that Oliver had been told by his mother he wasn’t welcome anymore, because she couldn’t tolerate his sexuality. Because yes, even in this day and age people were homophobic.

“Well, I know somewhere where you’ll always be welcome,” Elio had said.

Were they in a relationship? They hadn’t really discussed it, and they hadn’t kissed or anything, and maybe there was a part of both of them that was terrified of getting too close and triggering the pain that had been sitting there for over a year just stewing. Elio had, though, given himself many handjobs over the last few weeks just to deal with Oliver being back in his life.

“Happy to be home for a bit?” Oliver asked.

“Oh God yes,” said Elio, beaming.

When Elio saw his mother and father waiting for him in the arrivals lounge, he handed his suitcase to Oliver and ran to them, crying as he fell into their embrace. 

“I missed you,” he said.

“We missed you too, darling,” Annella said. “Welcome home!”

**Author's Note:**

> OK so comments really help motivate me to write, and I love validation.


End file.
